Ultra (16 page)

The trees thrashed, yanking at their roots. Rocks flew through the air like ice cubes in a blender.

“There’s no point breaking stuff!” I shouted. “It won’t make your shadow appear.”

“Maybe not,” roared Wind. “But it makes me feel better!”

There was a splintering
crack
, and a giant spruce tree collapsed. I realized that I needed to get out of the forest, so I ran back down to the edge of the lake. Colossal waves battered the shore, and sheets of spray lashed the rocks.

Then a new sound arose — a throttling hum. It sounded like an airplane taking off.

In the dim light I saw a rope fall out of the clouds. The hum turned into a scream. The rope was a tornado.

Trees flew through the air like laundry from a clothes line. Other stuff too — rocks, branches, an old rowboat. A flurry of pink flags whipped past my eyes. The trail markers! I thought. The path home. Gone!

The weirdest part was the air. It was impossible to breathe. It was clogged with dirt and water. It was like inhaling mud.

Lightning flashed and rain sheeted. It felt like a fire hose was being shot at my head. I kept worrying about the other runners. Kara, Kern, even the Dirt Eater.

I wedged myself down between two boulders. There was a series of pops, and another tree crashed down. The roar of the tornado got louder and louder. Then something hit my head, and everything went black.

* * *

Later, I woke to the smell of damp cedar. A cluster of stars shone down between the treetops. The lake was still, and the trees had stopped swaying. In the dripping silence, I could hear the croaking of frogs.

I pulled myself out of my hidey-hole. My head hurt, my arms hurt, my shoulders hurt too. My gums hurt, swallowing hurt, breathing hurt — everything hurt. I brushed the hair
off my forehead. Even my hair hurt!

I tugged off my shoes and held them upside down. Rivers of brown sludge poured out onto the ground. The duct tape was still holding my feet together, but two of my toenails had turned completely black.

Toenails are supposed to be pink, not black.

I felt sick — like something in my stomach had curdled.

I peeled off my tights and T-shirts and wrung them out. My chest was covered with purple welts. I put my wet shirts back on and tried to stand up, but a spike of pain shot up my spine. I slumped back down against a pile of rocks.

Bad thoughts swam through me like eels. My gels were gone. My cookie bag was gone too. And I had no idea where the trail was anymore.

Just then, as I was trying to decide what to do, a stone popped loose from the pile of rocks at my back. I twisted sideways and shone my light into the hole.

Something glinted. I reached inside.

SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS:
Don’t tell me. The Shrine.

QUINN:
Yeah, but it wasn’t much to look at. I’d expected a fountain, or a stone building or something. This was just a shabby pile of rocks.

SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS:
And you expected something more than that?

QUINN:
I’m getting to that.

I reached inside the cairn and felt around. My fingers
touched a metal box. I pulled it out. It was heavy — maybe a couple of kilos. Three lines had been stamped on the lid:

I unlatched the clasp on the lid of the box and opened it up. It was filled with a bunch of junk. Silver dollars, dried flowers, shoelaces braided into crosses.

What a disappointment.

I unzipped my fanny pack and pulled out my photo, glad that Mom had had it laminated.

I slid the photo into the box, flipped down the lid and slid it back inside the cairn.

SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS:
Tell me about the picture.

QUINN:
The one of my family? It was nothing special. Just a picture of the four of us, all together. Dad was wearing his uniform and he had his hand on my shoulder. Mom and I were wearing our Sunday clothes. Ollie was holding his gecko, Boo.

SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS:
What did it feel like, leaving that picture at the Shrine?

QUINN:
It didn’t feel like anything, really. I’d promised Dad I’d leave something there for him, so I guess I was glad that I could keep my promise.

SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS:
Didn’t you feel anything else?

QUINN:
What do you want me to say, that I cried? I didn’t. I’d had it with crying. Mom’s shrink says that crying will make me feel better, but I’d done it a bunch of times, and it didn’t change
anything. That doctor didn’t know what he was talking about. You can cry all you want, but the world is still a total suckfest when you’re done.

After I plugged up the hole in the Shrine, I dug around in my fanny pack. Kneecap’s phone was soaking wet and out of juice. For a second I thought I’d wrecked it, but when I clicked the spare battery into place, the screen lit up.

At last, I thought! A little good luck!

I dialed the Albatross, but nothing happened. I stared at the screen.
NO SERVICE
, it said.

I climbed to the top of the pile of rocks, thinking I might get better reception. I called Kneecap’s house.
NO SERVICE
, the phone said.

Then I went a bit crazy. I couldn’t believe all my bad luck. I picked up a rock from the top of the Shrine and whipped it at the forest as hard as I could. It glanced off a pine tree with an ear-splitting crack.

“It’s about time you cleaned yourself up!” I shouted. Then I reached down and picked up another rock.

This time the rock smashed against a boulder. “How’s
that
for a surprise?” I yelled.

I jumped down off the cairn and pulled a bunch of rocks loose. “Take
that
!” I screamed. “And
that
! And
THAT
!”

I threw the rocks as hard as I could. My heart was hammering and my vision was a blur. Finally, when I ran out of loose rocks, I reached back into the cairn and pulled out the tin box. I guess I would have thrown that too, but then Kneecap’s phone began to ring.

For a moment I didn’t know what to do. I sat down with
the box and stared at the phone. The screen said two words:
CALLING: SCHEURMANN
.

Part of me wanted to chuck the phone into the forest. I’m not sure what stopped me from doing that.

“Hello?” I said finally.

“Quinn?” said Mom.

“Hi,” I said.

My throat thickened up and I felt a sobbing in my chest. Be cool, I told myself. Breathe deep.

“Thank God!” Mom said. “I’ve been calling for two hours!”

“Really?” I said. “I guess the network was down.”

“Are you okay? There’s a tornado warning.”

“I know,” I said. “The storm just ended.”

“Really? It’s pouring here!”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m fine.”

No I’m not! I wanted to scream. No I’m not!

I felt like I’d been run over by a train.

“Have you crossed the finish line yet?” Mom asked.

“Not exactly,” I said.

My fingernails were blue and my whole body was shivering. I was actually having trouble hanging on to the phone.

“Where are you?” Mom asked.

“At the Shrine.”

The phone line crackled between us.

“You must be soaking,” she said. “Are you warm enough?”

“Toasty warm,” I said. I clenched my jaw so my teeth wouldn’t chatter.

“We’ll be at the base camp in an hour,” Mom said. “Hang
on; I’ll wake up your brother.”

I listened to the rainstorm pounding my house, far away.

“Hello?” said Ollie.

“Hey bro, how’s it going?”

“Quinn?” Sleep in his voice. “What time is it?”

“Nearly five,” I said.

Thunder sounded over the phone.

“Is it storming where you are?” Ollie asked.

“Not anymore,” I said. “It was bad for a while. My fault. I gave some bad news to Wind.”

Ollie said nothing to this. I rubbed my feet. One of my toenails came off in my fingers.

“I need your help, Ollie,” I said. “I don’t think I can finish this race.”

“Do you still have two feet?” Ollie asked.

I looked down at the ground. My feet, wrapped in decaying duct tape, looked like used-up teabags.

“Sort of,” I said.

“Can you move them?” said Ollie.

I wiggled my feet back and forth. Two toes had turned purple, but the rest seemed okay. “Yes,” I said.

“Then you’re going to finish the race,” said Ollie.

I appreciated what he was doing, trying to boost my spirits like that. But wait. That’s a lie. I didn’t appreciate that at all! I actually wanted to yell: Listen, you pig stick, you’ve been sleeping in a warm bed all night long, so why don’t you just —

“How many miles do you have left?” Ollie asked.

“Three,” I said. “But I think I broke some toes, and the tornado blew all the course flags away.”

DNF, I thought. Those letters didn’t sound so bad.
Actually, they sounded a bit like a prayer.

“Want to hear a knock-knock joke?” Ollie asked.

“Come on, Ollie,” I pleaded. “I’ve lost my way. My body is toast. And I’m freezing to death!”

“Knock knock,” said Ollie.

“OLLIE!” I shouted.

“Knock knock.”

I sighed. “Who’s there?”

“Accordion,” said Ollie.

“Accordion who?”

“Accordion to the TV, the wind is gonna blow all day!”

Ollie roared with laughter at the other end of the line.

I didn’t laugh. Jokes were the last thing I needed just then.

“The storm blew the trail markers away,” I repeated. “Even if I had the strength, I wouldn’t know which way to run!”

“Sure you do,” Ollie said. “You’ve got GPS.”

He was right. I’d seen the app on Kneecap’s phone. All I needed were the Base Camp’s coordinates.

“You can do it,” he said. “I know you can.”

You skid mark, I thought, I feel like crap. I’d rather be dead than have to run any farther.

Ollie was quiet on the other end of the phone. Kneecap was right, I suddenly realized. I
am
a fun vampire.

“Ollie?” I said.

“What?” he said.

“I can’t do it. I’m quitting.”

I hadn’t known I was going to say that. But now that I had, relief flooded through my body. I’d run 97 miles. I’d crossed paths with a bear, I’d nearly fallen off a train bridge, and I’d nearly been swallowed by a tornado.

“Why are you quitting?” Ollie asked.

“Because I’m hurt,” I said.

“As much as we hurt when Daddy died?”

SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS:
Your father served in Afghanistan, isn’t that right?

QUINN:
Yeah. He was on his third tour of duty.

SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS:
Do you remember the day that he left?

QUINN:
Sort of. I thought his bus was coming at eight, not at six. Mom kept yelling at me to get up, get up.

Ollie came into my room. “Hurry up!” he pleaded. “He’s leaving soon!” He sounded kind of choked up.

“Get lost,” I said.

A few minutes later Dad came and sat on the edge of my bed. We’d fought the night before, so I pretended to be asleep. I heard the clomp of his boots and the rustle of his pants. “Gotta go, kiddo,” he said and he leaned down and kissed my head.

Then he went. Climbed onto the bus and was gone.

SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS:
What had you been fighting about the night before?

QUINN:
Afghanistan. He’d already gone there twice. I didn’t get why he had to go back.

“If you were a real father,” I’d told him, “you’d stay with us.”

SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS:
What did he say to that?

QUINN:
He kept talking about all the kids over there. How they had no food, no water, no education.

“How about
dads
?” I asked him. “Do they have any of those?”

“A lot of them don’t,” he said.

I said, “I know how they feel.”

Dad counted to five beneath his breath.

“I watch the news, you know,” I told him. “A lot of people think we shouldn’t even be in Afghanistan.”

“A lot of people are wrong,” he said.

“Maybe you’re the one who’s wrong,” I said.

SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS:
It’s been a terrible war. No one can argue with that. And it’s the families of the soldiers who have sacrificed the most.

(Audience applauds)

QUINN:
Okay, fine. But do you know how many times Afghanistan has been invaded? Dozens of times. Russia, Britain, Genghis Khan, the United States, they all invaded Afghanistan at one time or another.

Now — do you know how many of those invaders won? None of them. Not a single one. That’s because Afghanistan is unwinnable. It doesn’t take a lot of brains to figure that out.

(Long silence; audience fidgets)

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Do you need to go to a commercial now?

SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS:
No, this is important. Your story is important.

QUINN:
It’s just that, in Afghanistan, everyone loses. Especially my family. We lost a lot.

SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS:
Your dad was driving over a bridge outside of Kandahar …

QUINN:
It was an IED — you know, Improvised Explosive Device. The whole right side of the carrier was blown in. Both of his legs were torn off.

(Long silence)

SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS:
Take as much time as you need. Would you like a glass of water?

QUINN:
Don’t you get it, he lost his
LEGS
! The legs he used to go running with!

(Long silence)

SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS:
It’s okay, Quinn. It’s not your fault. It’s most definitely not your fault.

QUINN:
But it is, don’t you see? I pretended to be asleep. I never said goodbye. I never told him —